Little Bit
by CRebel
Summary: Companion to the "Sydney" stories. A series of one-shots revolving around Daryl's relationship with his daughter.
1. The Nursing Home

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any plotlines or characters from the TV show or graphic novels.**

**Summary:** **Daryl questions his parenting ability the night after the CDC explosion.**

**. . . . .**

Daryl knew he wasn't a good enough father. But damn, he was doing the best he could.

The group was in the middle of the nursing home. The one Grimes had given all the guns to. The one that, as they'd discovered hours before, had been raided – every person there killed by a bullet. Not walkers. People. People had murdered them all. Cleaned the place dry.

But they'd stopped here for the night, the group. And now they were holed up in a room, all except T-Dog – stupid name – who was keeping watch outside the door. The others were scattered around the room, sleeping or at least acting like it. Daryl and Sydney had a corner to themselves. Daryl sat up against a wall, his crossbow beside him. He closed his eyes every now and then for the hell of it, but he knew he wasn't going to sleep. Sydney was curled up on the floor a foot away, using some old blanket as a pillow, and that _she _could sleep made him both grateful and pissed off. The kid had wanted to die a few hours before. Now she slept like a damn baby.

He studied her. Most peaceful thing was watching his daughter sleep, usually, but not tonight. Her hands were in fists and tucked under her chin, like always. In the white light from the lamp across the room, Daryl could see that her eyebrows were close together, as if she were working out a problem. Well, good luck to her. She had plenty of problems to work out.

For Christ's sake, she was ten. _Ten_. And she'd wanted to kill herself.

Daryl rubbed his mouth. No, she hadn't. Not really, he knew that, he knew his kid. Sydney just missed her mom. She just wanted Leah. And Daryl couldn't blame her for that. He couldn't even be insulted by it. Sydney had spent most of her life – ever since she was what, two? – with her mom. She would see Daryl every other weekend, some Christmases, some birthdays. Typical custody arrangement. And Daryl knew she adored him. Hell, she used to think she liked him more than her mom, she told him so once. But now Leah was gone and Daryl was the only parent Sydney had, and neither of them were really sure what they were doing. Especially considering the world was now screwed to shit and it was all Daryl could do to keep his daughter from getting herself killed. The obligation to be a good parent in all the moral and emotional ways had to take backseat to the constant, basic instinct to keep Sydney safe.

But as far as the emotional stuff went – was he really doing _this_ shitty of a job? Sydney'd looked up at him back at the CDC, minutes before the place blew to hell, and asked him if he believed in heaven. Blinking those blue eyes, as innocent as anything. Not scared. Not worried.

Daryl dug his palms into his eyes. "Son of a bitch . . ."

"_If there's a heaven, Mom's there."_

Her mom. Leah Cartwright. Leah . . . Green eyes, brown hair. Small, but fierce and passionate and tough, like Sydney. Beautiful and smart, like Sydney. A damn good lawyer and a hell of a lover. And a hard woman to have for an ex-wife, in a lot of ways.

Daryl closed his eyes.

Leah'd been a good parent, too. Better than Daryl. She hadn't been perfect, he knew that more than anyone. She'd swear, she'd throw fits, she had bad taste in men – Daryl didn't consider himself an exception – she would smoke when she was feeling over-the-edge stressed out, and she could shoot whiskey like no other woman he'd ever met but still drank too much to hold sometimes. Leah had a temper nearly as bad as his – their daughter never had a chance in that area, her blood was against her – and Daryl'd seen her lose it plenty of times, even with Sydney.

_But she'd still been a good mom. _She could read their kid – glance at Sydney and know if she was hungry, or moody, or bored, or lying, or whatever. But that wasn't the amazing part, hell, Daryl could usually do that. What made Leah so impressive was that she actually knew what to do after she learned about the problem. Knew if what Sydney needed was a hug or a joke. Knew when she needed a talking-to and when she needed a snack. For Leah, it had been so easy.

It wasn't easy for Daryl. It never had been. Who would he have learned skills like that from? His old man, drunk bastard that he was? Hah. Merle? Hell no.

But Merle . . . Merle, to his credit, had tried with Sydney. Maybe because he'd wanted to make up for not being there enough when Daryl was a kid. Least, that's what Daryl liked to think. Merle'd been around most of the time for Syd. Most weekends. And he'd been good with her. Good enough that she loved him. But as far as parenting advice went, Daryl learned fast not to ask for it from his brother. Merle never looked too far past the surface of things having to do with Sydney. She didn't want to bait a hook? "Little brother, you make her stick that worm. Kid needs to toughen up if she's gonna make it in this world." Sydney's dog got ran over? "Tell her the pooch took off. Or tell her ya shot its brains out. Either way, Little Bit's gonna cry over it." Sydney did something, _anything_ out of line? "I tell you what, Daryl, what that girl needs is for her daddy to wear her out good. She's gotta learn, don't she? You're too soft, baby brother, that's what your problem is."

Merle'd stepped up after the walkers, after Leah. A little, at least. Even tucked Sydney in once or twice. But he was gone now. Merle, Leah, Leah's parents, everyone. Daryl was all Sydney had left. The last adult standing. With no idea what to do half the time –

"Dad?"

She was awake. She was watching him.

Daryl shifted and touched her head. "Hey, baby girl, go back to sleep. You're alright."

She blinked at him, eyelids slow and heavy, before pulling herself closer and resting her head on his leg. Daryl stroked her hair a few times – dark, thick, identical in every way to Leah's – and then rubbed her back for a while. He thought she was asleep by the time she turned over and gazed up at him. "I never said I was sorry."

Daryl looked around, made sure everyone else was still asleep. "For what?"

"For today."

He brushed some hair off of her face. "Thought I told you to forget about all that?" No reason for them both to lose sleep over it.

Sydney put her knuckle into her mouth. She'd been doing that a lot lately, chewing on her fingers. Daryl wondered if he was supposed to make her stop. Leah probably would. Sydney nibbled for a second and then asked, barely audible, "Will _you_ forget about it?"

Forget about it? Forget about his daughter being perfectly fine with getting blown up, hoping that she could see her mother in heaven, even though she had her dad right there and he was trying like hell to make things okay?

Sure.

But Daryl just took her hand, the one being gnawed at, and replaced it on her chest. "Sydney, I told you, I get it. Now I want you to go to sleep, and I don't wanna hear anymore 'bout it."

She took her lip in between her teeth, then said, "One more thing?"

He nodded.

She took a deep breath. "I wouldn't have stayed. Even if you hadn't talked to me before Dr. Jenner opened the door. I swear."

Daryl ground his teeth together, staring at her. "I know."

"But, no, listen . . ." She sat up. Daryl didn't stop her. She shook her hair out of her eyes and shot him an almost desperate expression. It made him hurt. She whispered, "I mean, it's like you said back there . . . I got _you_." She looked down, playing with her fingers. She was shy about these kinds of conversations. Probably got that from Daryl. "And I know that's more'n a lotta people got. And I miss Mom, like I said. But you're my dad and I love you and I _would've_ left the CDC because _I got you_."

Damn.

Leah used to say Sydney had Daryl wrapped around her finger. Daryl would scoff at that. But it was when Sydney said things like this, just poured her heart out with those simple, fast statements of hers - with perfect timing, too, the kid damn sure had good timing - that Daryl had to admit that maybe, sometimes, he was more or less putty in his little girl's hands.

But just sometimes. And God knows he'd never say it out loud.

He nodded at her again, even though she still wasn't looking at him. "Alright, Little Bit." He rubbed her shoulder. "I believe you. I promise. Now c'mon, be a good girl, get some shut-eye."

And so she met his eyes and gave a little smile, and Daryl knew - with relief - that he'd done alright here. His daughter lay back down on his leg and he placed a hand on her back. She fell asleep before too long, her slow breaths comforting as anything.

God, he loved her. No one could make him as angry or as scared as she could, and that was happening all too much these days. But that was because he loved her.

It was like that, with one hand on his daughter and the other on his crossbow, that Daryl managed to get some sleep after all.


	2. Ghosts

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any plotlines or characters from the TV show or graphic novels.**

**Summary: Daryl reconsiders his duties as a father after the events of "Chatting," Chapter 11 of "Sydney: Season Two."**

**. . . . . .**

Daryl had a special sort of anger that only came out for Sydney. This was an intense sort of anger, an anger that filled up every last inch of him, a _fury_ that hurt like hell. And that could melt away in the blink of an eye. Because of a smile, or a tear, or one damn touch. In this case, tonight, after Sydney had followed Daryl and Andrea into the woods like the idiot she wasn't, Daryl's rage first began to lessen – almost against his will – when he saw the blood on his daughter's knee. It kept lessening from then on out, as he sat there and talked to his kid, fixing up her cut like a dad's supposed to. And finally, the rage had dulled so much that he couldn't help it, he ended up letting her go with just a warning, maybe against his better judgment.

And that anger, that special sort of anger, it melted away one hundred percent when he told Sydney to head to the RV and she paused to wrap her arms around him, give him a kiss. He'd just promised to whip her the next time she got into trouble, but she still wrapped her arms around him and gave him a kiss. Because that was Sydney.

She climbed down from the hood Daryl sat on and he told her he'd be inside in a minute. She ran off, might've given him one of her small smiles first, it was hard to tell in the dark. Daryl listened until he heard her climb into the RV.

Only then did he give in and listen to the voice in his head. The voice he knew he'd hear.

Because Merle, Merle'd mock him to no end for letting Syd off that easy. And Daryl, sleep-deprived Daryl, could hear him as plain as day.

"_Now let me get this straight, brother. That girl – your child, your flesh and blood – openly disobeyed you and could've easily got dead in the process? And you ain't even gonna punish her proper? 'Cause why? You just ain't got the heart to?"_

"She's a little girl," Daryl muttered.

_"Yep. And that's all she's ever gonna be if you don't toughen her up."_

"She's plenty tough." Daryl cracked his neck.

He was alone. Merle wasn't here. Merle was gone. Somewhere back in Atlanta, maybe. Or dead. Wherever he was, he sure as hell hadn't seen Sydney sitting here, her eyes shiny with tears in the moonlight, with her trying so hard to hide them. Asking if Daryl was going to wear her out in a voice that would've broken any man's heart.

Sydney didn't mean anything by it, sneaking out. She'd just gotten an idea in her head and acted on it, like kids do. Exactly why she got that idea, though . . . Daryl couldn't quite grasp an answer for that. He figured it had to go deeper than just her wanting to look for Sophia, because there wasn't much looking she could do out there, not with her too busy keeping quiet, keeping out of his sight, and she must have known that.

_"Mmhmm. Let me ask ya somethin', little brother."_

Daryl shook his head, hard. It didn't help.

"_It ever cross through that thick head that maybe Little Bit just ain't quite over those suicidal tendencies of hers?"_

"Shut up." Daryl rubbed his eyes now. There was no one there to hear him talk, he knew that, he wasn't crazy, but he talked anyway. Helped him mull things though, maybe. "Asshole . . ."

_"C'mon, Daryl, you know you're thinkin' it. And after everything, who can blame ya? That incident at the Center for Disease Control, then this mornin', when she couldn't even stand to listen to a little argument because someone dropped the word 'suicide.' And then what she told ya back at the church, what was it? Somethin' like, 'It shoulda been me out in them woods, Daddy, it shoulda been me out runnin' from the walkers all by my lonesome,' wasn't that it? Tell me, that sound to you like a little girl who's in her right mind?"_

"She didn't mean nothin' by it!"

_"And now, followin' you out into the woods, middle of the night, nothing but that toothpick of a knife to protect her. I tell you what, Daryl, even if she don't wanna do herself in, she sure as hell don't seem too keen on making it to eleven, do she?"_

The nearest thing to Daryl was the First Aid kit he'd used on Sydney's knee. He lashed out at it, knocked it to the ground, heard the contents hit the asphalt, bounce, scatter. He jumped off the hood of the car, kicked the box, and watched it skid over the road, flipping around on itself, losing its remaining contents and banging into a tire a ways off. "I ain't goin' through this again! She don't wanna die!"

_"And you're so sure of that 'cause why? 'Cause she told ya so?"_

"'Cause I know my daughter!" Daryl paced. He didn't look at the RV, but Dale or Andrea or whoever was on watch had to be wondering what the hell he was doing. Well, let 'em wonder. Daryl kept his eyes out on the highway, scanning the vehicles and the trees, half-hoping a walker would show its ugly-ass face and give him something to do. "She don't wanna die," he said again, gravel in his voice, fists formed at his sides, ready, waiting. "She _don't. _She just don't wanna listen. She's ten, ten-year-olds don't wanna listen sometimes. They wanna test their damn limits."

_"Haha. Where'd you pick that up from? Leah make you read one of them parentin' books?"_

"Leah ain't got nothin' to do with this."

_"Nothin' to do with this? Your little girl's mama put a bullet in her own brain and you think she's got nothin' to do with your suicidal –"_

"Sydney ain't suicidal!"

_"Right, right. She just wants to test her limits. Okay, baby brother, that what you wanna believe? You go right on ahead and believe it. Hell, sounds just fine. But you know what that means, don't ya?"_

Daryl needed to sleep. He needed to get this voice out of his head.

"_It means you're gonna have to start makin' those limits she's testin' a little more defined. Now, you let her get away with disrespectin' ya this time. Can't change that now. But you _cannot _let it happen again, mark my words. It's time to crack down, son, especially now she's gonna think she can get away with whatever pops into her head."_

"She don't think she can get away with nothin'. I told her I'd whip her next time."

_"Funny, since she needed it _this_ time. You're too soft, Daryl, too soft."_

Daryl put his hands out and stooped over one of the vehicles, ducking his head down. "What, you'd rather I take a belt to her? That what you'd like me to do? I ain't beatin' that kid, ever, I don't care what she does. She ain't gonna be afraid of me, not like –"

_"Shit, brother, I ain't talkin' about _beatin'_ her, for Christ's sake. I love that little girl like she's my own. I'm just tellin' you that it's all up to you now to keep my niece safe. You hearin' me, boy? Ain't that your job, after all?"_

He was her dad, of course that was his job, and he was doing it, she was safe, up until tonight . . . When she ran off like that . . .

_ "That's right, she ran off, not a care in the world. Kid could've been walker chow. Daryl, keepin' her safe means makin' her mind."_

Daryl's hands contracted against the car.

"_You just listen to ole Merle, now. You care about Sydney at all –"_

"You son'bitch, you don't even know – "

"_Then you show that girl you mean business. I mean it, now. Here's what's gonna happen. Next time she goes against ya – and she's gonna, now she thinks you're spineless – you and her gotta have a good ole fashioned come-to-Jesus so you can drive it into her head that she best do as she's told. Talkin' ain't gonna work on a ten-year-old, you're gonna have to put her over your knee, like she needs ya to, don't think twice. Ain't nothin' wrong with child discipline, Daryl, especially not in this brave new world."_

"You ain't exactly one to be givin' advice on the subject, are ya?"

No answer.

Of course not. Because Daryl was out here alone. Alone except for the corpses. And a ghost in his head.

He took a few deep breaths. He was pissed again. Pissed at Merle, pissed at himself, pissed at his old man, pissed at Leah, and God help him, pissed at Sydney. With that special sort of anger. Only it was worse now, somehow it was worse.

She should've goddamn minded. And he shouldn't have let her walk.

The problem was Sydney thought she was a grownup. And sometimes, _sometimes_ she could act like it, she was so smart, so tough. But she wasn't a grownup, she was a kid, just a kid, that was all there was to it, and Daryl knew what was best for her, and he would be _damned_ if she didn't learn that. If he was going to lose her because she didn't know enough to listen.

He'd meant it when he said he'd whip her if she got into trouble again, but he was just now _realizing_ he'd meant it. That he'd have to mean it. He couldn't be soft anymore. Not if he wanted to keep his daughter safe, and that was what mattered, that's what mattered more than anything. From here on out, he'd do what he'd have to do, whatever it took to keep Sydney from getting herself killed. Even if it meant he'd have to punish her, even it meant he'd have to make her cry –

But he hated seeing her cry.

_"Man up, little brother. It's for her own good."_

. . . . .

Daryl slept on the floor of the RV, his feet in the back room where Carol was finally asleep, his head by the table where Dale dozed. He slipped in and out of consciousness, twisting his head back on occasion to make sure he could still see Sydney's legs hanging off the edge of the passenger seat. He didn't dream until dawn. And that, really, was more of half-dream, his subconscious playing with him while his brain woke up.

She was wearing one of his shirts – she used to wear them when she slept, a habit she'd passed down to Sydney after the divorce. He missed seeing her wear his shirts, though. He stared at her there, standing in the door to the RV's back room, hair long and messy, no makeup on her face. Like she was waking up on a Saturday morning, about to make the first of her customary two cups of black coffee.

"You ain't here," Daryl told her.

"Nope." She lay down beside him, pressing her head into his chest. "And I hate your brother."

"That ain't news."

"Just a friendly reminder."

She smelled like hazelnut and flowers. He felt her sigh.

"Leah," he said, grazing his fingers along her back, "He ain't wrong."

She was quiet. Daryl twirled a strand of her hair around his finger until she said, "I don't know this world, Daryl. You do. So you do whatever you think you got to to keep her safe." She put her chin on his chest now, looking at him with those eyes, those dark green eyes with little flecks of brown. Pine tree eyes, Daryl used to tell her, and it made her laugh because it sounded so very unromantic, but Daryl liked pine trees. She said, "But Dixon, don't forget for one damn minute that that girl would go to hell and back to please you. And you make sure that, no matter what, she knows you love her."

"She knows."

"Make sure."

"Fine."

She sighed again. Her hand, with its long pianist fingers and neatly clipped nails, came up to his face. She touched his cheek, dipped into his hair. His own hand ran down her arm, her toned muscles, her soft skin with the little bumps she'd hated, until he felt it. The gashes. Teeth marks.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," she murmured.

Then she was gone. That fast.

Daryl rolled over but knew he wouldn't go back to sleep. It was morning, anyway. But he inhaled, trying to catch the hazelnut, the flowers, but he got nothing.

"Who's Leah?"

Daryl sat up straight. Carol was standing in the middle of the back room, watching him. She had circles under her eyes. "You were sayin' her name," she told him softly.

Daryl ran a hand over his face, biting back the snarl that rose inside of him, _Mind your own business _or something of the like. He didn't want to talk like that, not after that dream, it wasn't right. So he just hopped up and said, "Sydney's mom," before walking past a stirring Dale and to the other end of the RV, too fast for Carol to ask him why he was calling for his dead ex in his sleep.

Sydney was in her little ball of a sleeping position, head against the passenger window, the rest of her cocooned in a thin blanket. Daryl crouched down and nudged her. "Little Bit. Hey."

She woke up fast. It never took much to rouse her. She looked back at him. Her eyes were blue, like his, but somehow they still reminded him of her mother. The shape or something. She squeezed them shut and stretched out her legs, and that was more Daryl than Leah. It was cute, though. "We're leavin'?"

"Soon's we can."

"'Kay." She relaxed in her seat, peeled the blanket off of her, ran a hand through her hair.

"Hey," Daryl said, talking low. This wasn't something for the others to hear. "You know I love you?"

Sydney's eyebrows came together and she looked like Leah again. God, she looked so much like Leah. "Yeah . . . "

She said it like it was obvious, like he'd asked if she knew her birthday, or how to handle a .22, and it made Daryl smile a little. "Just checkin'." He flicked her nose and she batted his hand away, giggling. This was a hell of a lot better than seeing her cry.

But he hadn't forgotten last night. What she'd done, what Merle said – no, what Daryl though, it was all Daryl. He hadn't forgotten what he'd promised himself. In his heart, he didn't think he could afford to.

Because he wasn't going to lose Sydney. Whatever it took, he wasn't going to lose her.


	3. Stronger

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any plotlines or characters from the franchise.**

**Summary: A week after Shane opened the barn, Daryl worries about Sydney and thinks about his decision to take her away from the others.**

**. . . . .**

Daryl leaned on the old chimney and watched his daughter, who sat by the fire, working in a textbook like any normal ten-year-old. She wasn't a normal ten-year-old, of course. At least not according to the old definition. Those ten-year-olds didn't really exist anymore. And Sydney, Sydney was different than she used to be. In a lot of ways.

It was night. Earlier today, Daryl had told his girl to put down a walker. She'd pulled out her revolver without any protest. She'd been ready to take the shot. And he damn near knocked the gun out of her hands.

. . . . .

The first animal Sydney ever shot had been a deer. An eight-point buck with meat on its bones, the kind of deer a kid could be proud of. Sydney'd been five, and Daryl had aimed the gun for her and told her to shoot. She'd looked nervous, but Daryl had assumed that was just because of the gun, and he'd coaxed her over and talked her through pulling the trigger, in spite of her shaking hands. The deer'd gone down and Sydney had immediately burst into tears. The gun hadn't been what she was afraid of.

Leah later told him that the first thing Sydney did when she got back to her mother's was throw away her copy of _Bambi. _Merle'd always thought this was hilarious. Daryl hadn't told him – and never did – how terrible he felt about the whole thing. But when he called Sydney a few days later, she asked if they could go hunting again on his next weekend. He took her – reluctantly – and she didn't cry the next time she shot. She never cried over another animal again, not until that dog of hers. A switch had been flipped after that first deer.

That whole process – that's what Daryl had expected from Sydney when it came to walkers. And it would _have_ to come to walkers, she'd need to learn to put them down herself, he'd always known that. He'd just decided it should be sooner rather than later. And he'd thought that the first time he'd tell her to, she'd give him that wide-eyed, frightened look, maybe even shake her head no, but he'd make her do it anyway, because it was important. He'd be tough, and maybe she'd get upset, but she'd recover and then the first one would be over with and she'd be able to do it when she really had to.

So when they found a walker in the forest today, after Daryl had Sydney track it for hours – she was so good at tracking, much better than he was at her age – Daryl had decided it was as good a time as any. Sydney had a gun and could use it, and so he'd stepped back, signaled for her to take the shot. He'd reminded himself to be tough, steeled himself for every way she might react.

Except for the way she actually did.

She'd given him a wide-eyed look alright, but it hadn't been frightened. It had been more like she couldn't believe he was letting her do it.

After he'd nodded, she'd raised her gun with steady hands. She hadn't bitten her lip. She hadn't taken a deep breath. She had her eyes narrowed in concentration, focused aim, and not a single trace of anxiety had existed on her face. In that moment, the kid had been pure hunter.

Daryl had stopped her at the last minute. With his heart pounding.

Because that hadn't been how it was supposed to happen. A ten-year-old wasn't supposed to be perfectly ready and willing to put a bullet into something that used to be a person. Walkers were dead, and Daryl had no problem blowing out their brains, but Sydney? Leah hadn't let her watch that kind of stuff on _television_. The witnessing-it ship had long sailed, of course, but _seeing_ all the gore was one thing. Syd doing it herself? That was something else entirely. And she should have trembled over it. At least the first time. She was a little kid, for God's sake, and it was awful and wrong that she'd been put in a world where she had to do something like put down a walker, and _she_ _should know that_.

But Sydney hadn't hesitated. Her finger had been on the trigger when Daryl'd pushed the gun down.

It had been wrong of him to stop her. It was wrong that he was worrying over this tonight. Hell, he should be relieved that it had been so easy for her. But nope. For once in her life, Daryl would have preferred to see Sydney cry.

But instead she'd been stoic.

Callous.

And, goddamn it, Daryl wanted Leah here. So fucking bad.

But she wasn't. And it was late.

Daryl swallowed and shoved off the chimney. He moved to the campfire and kneeled down into the heat, nudging his daughter. His beautiful little brilliant-and-messed-up daughter. "Hey," he said, massaging her arm for a second. "You need to get to bed."

She never protested anymore, not even in a light and sweet way. Not since the barn. She closed her book and got up, and Daryl couldn't help thinking about how small she was, even for her age. And she was too thin. Daryl stood, too, ran his hand down Sydney's hair, and in response she pressed her shoulder into his stomach in a half-hearted hug, twisting her head away from his gaze as she did. She thought he was mad. He'd been acting off, he couldn't help it, but he really wasn't angry at her. He didn't have a reason to be; she'd just done what he said. Now she was probably confused as hell and doing that self-hate thing she'd gotten into over the past few months, even before the walkers, mostly due to Leah's drinking but it was probably Daryl's fault in some way, too. It always seemed to be his fault in some way.

And so as Sydney pulled away and started to walk off, Daryl held her shoulder. She gave her attention to his boots until Daryl tapped under her chin. "Hey."

Up came her eyes. Her lip curled into her mouth.

"I tell you somethin'," Daryl said solemnly, "You keep it to yourself?"

She nodded.

"I'd go trackin' with you over your Uncle Merle any day of the week."

He felt a pang when he talked about his brother. But the comment tugged at Sydney's lips, so it was more or less worth it. But the smile fell fast. "Dad, are you –"

"Babe, I ain't mad. I promise. I just . . ." _Am scared shitless that I suck at being a father and am raising you into something you ain't got no business being. _"I just got a lot on my mind today."

"You mean Randall?"

Daryl'd forgotten about that. The injured stray Rick'd brought home last week was healed, and Rick and Shane were taking the kid out to the highway tomorrow to let him go, for better or worse. "Yeah. Randall."

Sydney nodded understandingly. Daryl felt her shoulder relax. He wanted to scoop her in his arms, pretend she was five again, tell her it was okay she'd shot the deer and that sometimes you had to do the hard stuff.

But she wasn't five. So he just sent her to bed and then he was alone. He sat down on the log Syd had just occupied and kept his eyes on the fire, his mind churning.

Maybe she was just growing up. Maybe it was because of the barn. Or maybe bringing her out here was what had done it, what had made her . . . colder. But it had only been a week. And moving Sydney away from the others and out by the woods, that had been a good decision, it was for the best. After Sophia.

Because Sophia could have been Sydney. Just as easily. It could have been Sydney coming out of that barn, it could have been Daryl on the goddamn ground, being held back and consoled even though there's no _consoling_ when something like that happens. When your baby . . .

Sydney wasn't going to end up like Sophia. She was smarter, she was stronger, and Daryl? Daryl was a better parent than Carol. He knew how to keep an eye on his daughter. He had her close, she was barely ever out of his sight, and he was teaching her how to take care of herself.

He'd brought them out here for her. Carol didn't believe that, but screw her. He was here for Sydney, and it wasn't all sunshine and daisies, it hurt him, too. It hurt him because Sydney was so obviously hurting whether she wanted to say it or not.

She was lonely. He knew she should have friends, he knew Carl was the best option, and he knew the two of them had finally been starting to get closer when Daryl had moved her off. He'd known all that when they came out here, though, and he'd still done it, because friends wouldn't keep her alive. And any friends she made she could lose just as fast, and she'd lost enough.

None of this was ideal. But it was how it had to be. He had to protect her, and at the same time, she had to get stronger.

. . . but she'd unflinchingly sighted in on a walker, hadn't she?

He should have let her shoot. He should have been proud.

Maybe _he_ had to get stronger.

But he'd already been trying that before the barn. And he wasn't very good at it.

He wanted Leah.


	4. A Start

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any plotlines or characters from the TV show or graphic novels.**

**Summary: Daryl watches over Sydney as she sleeps the night after the walkers attack the prison.**

Things had been going so good. Up until today.

Sydney was tossing in her sleep, muttering, and Daryl couldn't think of how to calm her down without waking her up, and she needed to sleep. So he just watched her move around, helpless. He hated feeling helpless.

Three members of their group were dead. Lori. T-Dog. Carol. Carol. Daryl closed his eyes. He couldn't think about that right now. Couldn't do it, couldn't bear it, because he couldn't fix it. Sydney he could fix. Somehow.

She'd been fine the whole day, after the attack. Shocked, but fine. Glued to Carl, but that was nothing new, and Daryl got the feeling it was more for him than her, anyway. Carl needed it, so Daryl'd let it be. Even let Sydney stay in the boy's room long after they both should've been asleep. Daryl had sat at the top of the stairs, watching the cell door, giving Syd twenty minutes to come out, then another twenty minutes, then another, because he couldn't bear to tear them away from each other after everything. After Lori. But then, when Sydney had finally appeared outside the cell, she'd slumped over. Daryl had almost gone to her, but then she'd taken off. She ran into the dining room and Daryl heard the door slam. Cursing, he'd gone after her, only to find her collecting her arrows in the courtyard. Glenn had been there, trying to coax her back inside, but Daryl'd sent him away. He knew what was coming. So he sat down beside Syd, and when she burst out in tears, he was there. For the first time in eight months, he held her while she cried herself all out. Then he got her inside, got some food down her, put her to bed. Took care of her. That's all he wanted, he just wanted to take care of her. But she was still twisting and turning in bed. He couldn't stop it. It wasn't fair. She didn't deserve any more nightmares.

She was eleven. Just eleven, growing up all too fast, in so many different ways. She was losing baby fat. Wearing a goddamn bra, which Daryl couldn't even think about. Flirting with Carl without having any idea what she was doing. Putting down walkers.

Daryl'd gotten used to her putting down walkers, though. Actually the only part he'd gotten used to. It wasn't a big deal anymore, it was how it had to be. Not ideal, but necessary. It kept her safe, helped her keep the group safe. But just because he was fine with her seeing those things die didn't mean he was fine with what she'd seen today. Lori dying.

He hated it. He hated this whole day. He hated that it had made his little girl cry like that. And damn it, he had to fix it.

So the next morning, as soon as sunlight was coming through the windows, Daryl shook Sydney awake. "Hey. Wanna go huntin'?"

And of course she did.

Things weren't fixed. But it was a start.


	5. End of Story

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any plotlines or characters from the TV show or graphic novels.**

** Summary: Daryl prepares to rescue Sydney from Woodbury.**

**. . . . .**

"I got the flash-bangs, I got the tear gas," Daryl said as he loaded the bags in the back of the car. To his right, Oscar put something in. Guns, maybe. Daryl didn't really pay attention. He kept talking. "Never know what you're gonna need . . ." Oscar walked off. Didn't try to make conversation. Everyone knew better at this point. Any word Daryl had said in the past hour had been meant purely for himself, to drown out his own thoughts. Images.

Daryl's leather vest was in his hand. Wings on the back. One of the last things he had left of life before the apocalypse. Sydney loved this vest. When she was little, she'd been fascinated by the wings. He'd lie on the floor, watching TV or something, and she'd sit on his back, tracing her fingers over the design. Daryl swung the vest around him, shoved his arms through it. He'd let her wear it when he got her back. Hell, he'd let her keep it.

Carl came up to the car, bags in hand. "Hey," Daryl said, taking one from him, throwing it in the back with the others. "Don't you worry 'bout your old man. I'ma keep my eye on him."

Carl met his eyes but didn't say a word about his dad. Because they both knew Rick wasn't the reason Carl had been walking around with that dazed look on his face ever since the woman had shown up, the black woman with the sword and the baby formula. And the bow and arrows. Michonne, was that her name? Didn't matter. Carl walked off and Daryl headed into the prison, passing Carol on the way. Carol and the baby. He didn't look at them. He couldn't look at either of them right now.

Why'd he let her go? What business did he have putting an eleven-year-old out in harm's way when the run could've gone just as smooth without her? If she hadn't acted like such a damn brat that morning . . . He'd felt sorry for her, she was upset over her mom, but he should've told her to suck it up. Sent her back to her cell. Not let her go out. Not let her make a run, anything but let her make a fucking run. _Dad, please. I've gone on runs before. _Piece of cake, right? Nothing could go wrong? Everything went wrong. Sydney was off in some town, some goddamn town run by some goddamn governor and God only knew –

His crossbow was on one of the tables. He grabbed it, put it over his shoulder. Picked up his quiver. Then he found himself in Sydney's cell, which was stupid. Pointless. A waste of time.

Books on the top bunk. The basket of formula Michonne brought back had had a paperback novel stuck in the side, probably for Sydney. She was the only one who bothered reading for pleasure anymore. Weird kid. So smart, though, so smart. She was going to be fine, because she was smart. She'd figure out how to stay alive until they got there. Until Daryl killed every last son of a bitch who'd laid a finger on her.

Her sleeping bag was neat, unzipped and spread out to create a sort of mattress, most of the creases smoothed away. That was her mother in her. Syd had never made her bed before the walkers. But now she did. Just one more thing that had changed about her.

There was a picture stuck into a crack in the metal of the bedframe. Right by where Sydney's head rested when she was sleeping. Daryl'd seen the photo last night, when he'd stayed in here with her, and now he went over to it, sitting on Sydney's bed. In the picture, Syd wasn't even two yet. A bow was in her hair, probably the last bow her mom ever got her to wear. It was lighter back then, her hair. She'd been blonde at one, dark blonde at two, brown-haired at three. That's when people'd said she was really starting to look like Leah, but Daryl saw it in this picture, too. Pretty little thing.

And there was Leah herself, sitting on his lap, beautiful, grinning, watching Sydney. _You have to take care of her, _she'd told him that night in her house as the last safe piece of the world broke apart, _You have to keep her safe._

Daryl left the cell, grabbing Sydney's backpack as an afterthought, because the car had the room and she might need clean clothes when he found her.

He nearly ran into Carl. The kid's arms were full. One with Sydney's quiver and one with her bow. He held them out to Daryl. "Here. She'll want these when you find her."

Daryl took the arrows and then wrapped his fingers around the bow, lifted it carefully from Carl. It was so light, so small. But strong. Like its owner.

"Bring her back," Carl said.

Daryl looked at him. He wasn't sure how he felt about the thing between Carl and Sydney. He liked Carl fine. But he and Syd were kids, and the way they looked at each other sometimes . . . It was something way too adult. Not even anything romantic, necessarily. Just . . . deep. And Carl'd told him today, as they were sweeping the lower levels, that Sydney'd tried to put down Lori so Carl wouldn't have to. She'd been ready to do that. And Daryl was caught between feeling proud and sick. He wanted to blame Carl, wanted to be pissed at him for making Sydney care enough to be willing to make that offer. To fight for it. But he couldn't, because – especially now, looking down at the kid's face – he knew Carl loved Syd, too.

"Count on it." Then he moved past him and out the door, shouldering Sydney's bow.

Carol and the baby were still by the door. This time Daryl stopped. Couldn't help it. He'd found Carol holed up in a cell this morning, alive and well, but after Michonne showed up, he hadn't spoken to her at all. Carol could understand what he was going through better than anyone else here, except maybe Hershel. Maggie'd been taken, too. But no, Sydney was a little girl. Like Sophia had been . . . But Daryl didn't want to think about that, because what was happening with Sydney was different than what'd happened with Sophia. Because Sydney was going to be fine. He was going to get her back and she was going to be fine.

Carol looked at him but didn't say a word. Daryl studied the baby. Little Asskicker. So tiny. Not as tiny as Syd had been, though. She'd been born nearly a month premature and it was really touch-and-go in those first few days. Daryl had though he'd never be that scared again.

He was wrong.

Carol was cupping his shoulder. "Daryl," she murmured. That was it. Just his name.

It was time to go.

Daryl took a deep breath, nodded to himself. Then to Carol. "Stay safe."

She gave him a very small smile. "Nine lives, remember?"

Daryl strode to the car. Put Syd's bag and her bow and arrows in the back. Carl was right. She'd want them, probably as soon as he found her. She'd be all in one piece, sitting in a chair, kicking her legs back and forth like she'd been expecting the rescue team for hours. _Hey, Dad. Yeah, I'm fine. Where's my bow? Can we go huntin' later?_

The others were getting in the car. Rick driving, Michonne and Oscar in back. Daryl moved to the passenger side. As he opened the door, he met Hershel's eyes over the car. For just a second, he saw everything he felt reflected back at him in the old man's eyes.

He was going to find them. Bring them home. Glenn. Maggie. Sydney. Sydney. Sydney. He was going to get her back. End of story.


	6. Center

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any plotlines or characters from the TV show or graphic novels.**

** Summary: Daryl, Merle, and Sydney are rescued from Woodbury.**

. . . . .

Seeing Merle across from him in the arena at Woodbury was one thing. Seeing Sydney being held back on the sidelines was another. And then the man with the bandaged eye went over to her and held her by the throat, and Daryl decided he would kill him.

He was held up, though, by the duct tape keeping his hands behind his back, and even after that was cut away, the one-eyed guy announced to his adoring crowd that Merle and Daryl would be fighting to the death. Then Merle hit him in the gut, and Daryl had to put a few things ahead of murdering the one-eyed guy. Like breathing. Like getting off the ground.

When Merle kicked him back down, Daryl heard Sydney scream, and so when Merle came in for another swing Daryl knocked him one across the jaw and bought himself enough time to get on his feet. Which was when he noticed that walkers had been brought into the fight, held back by their necks, but close enough to grapple for Merle and Daryl, who both soon ended up on the ground, Merle pinning Daryl while Daryl tried to choke him. Or something. Daryl wasn't really sure what was going through his head. Later, he would mostly remember feeling shocked. Betrayed. Scared as hell for his daughter. Not so much the actual plans he had, good or bad.

The next thing he knew, Merle was telling him to follow his lead and Daryl was standing, his back to his brother's, and it was them against the walkers. What the hell kind of people kept walkers on hand, anyway? Punches were thrown, and Daryl'd just shoved a walker into a bunch of the Woodbury bastards when a gunshot rang out and a gas-grenade went off, filling the square with smoke and making everyone run away as more shots were fired. Soon it was almost impossible to see, but Daryl caught the bright gleam of a flashlight up ahead, through the haze, and he knew it was meant for him. He called for Sydney, she called back, but Daryl couldn't quite tell from where, and he could only stumble in the general direction until he heard Merle yell that he had her, he had Syd. And so Daryl took off towards the light. Just as he got out of the worst of the smoke, he nearly ran into a man using _his_ crossbow to put down a walker. Idiot wasn't even holding it right. Daryl came up behind him and managed to hit the guy and snag his weapon from his arms without slowing down.

He made it to Rick and Maggie, who were hunkering down by a dumpster, and he checked to make sure Merle was behind him and had Sydney in his arms before giving Rick the nod that meant _let's go. _

Sydney. She was okay.

The five of them ran and ended up behind a couple of buses that supported part of Woodbury's surrounding wall. Merle let Sydney down and went to work busting open a weak point in that wall, and Daryl knelt down and pulled Sydney to him and held her as close as he could and felt something inside of him break. His baby girl, she clamped onto him and called him _Daddy_, which she only ever did when she was scared, and Daryl held her tighter, fiercely, and wasn't entirely sure he was joking when he murmured to her that she wasn't leaving his sight ever again. He didn't even want to let her out of his arms. But out of nowhere, he was remembering how the one-eyed man had grabbed her so roughly back inside, and he peeled her arms from him, took her chin, checked her over. When he saw her arm, all scratched up and swollen, and caught her wince when he touched it, he'd gone livid, barking at Merle about how it happened, but Merle'd gotten the wall open by then and it was time to go. Get out of Woodbury and never come back. So they did, putting down a few walkers right outside the wall before making their way through the yards of what used to be suburbia. Rick and Maggie didn't like it, going with Merle. Leading him back to the car where Glenn waited with Michonne. But Daryl didn't worry about that right now. He'd been worried out of his mind all day. For now, he allowed himself a little peace, as much peace as he could get while running, because the center of his world was next to him, under his arm, and even though she was hurt it didn't seem to hinder her much. And hurt or not, she was alive. And he had her back. He had Sydney back.

And then there was Merle.


End file.
